"If you are going to kill me," I said, "I'd really appreciate it if you could please not do it when my ass is hanging out the window? I don't want to be known in the news as That Girl Who Died With Her Ass Hanging Out a Window and No Underwear On. That would be kind of embarrassing."

"'Kind of?' I imagine that would be monumentally embarrassing. 'No underwear' you say?" I couldn't see him, but I could hear the smirk in his voice. "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to leave home without clean underwear?"

"I did have clean underwear on when I left home, thank you very much, but some snotty little bitch demanded I give them to her!"

Another snort. "Wait a minute. Someone stole your underwear? A girl?"

"I didn't say she stole them..." I stopped. Was I actually rehashing my shitty Valentine's Day with Jackson Rippner while reenacting a scene from Winnie-the-Pooh? The blood must not be getting to my brain. That, or I was still drunk. Why was I not screaming? Now would be a perfectly appropriate time to scream for help.

I opened my mouth and let out a blood-curdling scream.

"Lisa?" Jackson said calmly. I couldn't stop screaming. I kicked my legs out again, hoping to fend him off. I just knew any second now he was going to pull out a knife and stab me in the butt. Or shoot me. Probably in the butt.

"Lisa... Your friend already drove off... Lisa!"

I was wailing, now. "Get awaaay! Get away from me! HEEELP!"

"LISA!" I heard a dull thwap before I even felt the blow that reverberated up my spine, pushing a high-pitched squeak of surprise out of my mouth. A tingling, then burning pain blossomed across my buttocks.

I hung there, motionless.

About twenty seconds later, he was standing in front of me at my kitchen sink, hands on his hips, shaking his head at me.

"Lisa?" he asked solemnly, trying not to grin his creepy Cheshire Cat grin. He wasn't fooling me. I could see it lurking there in his eyes. "Do you need a hand?"

"No thanks, I'm cool," I said offhandedly. As if people entered their apartments like this all the time.

He sighed deeply, then reached for my hands. "Give me your hands, Pooh," he smirked, reading my mind. The bastard! Then, a la Christopher Robin, he pulled me through.

I slithered down over the sink on my belly to the kitchen floor. I drew my knees up under my chin and wrapped my arms around myself in order to cover my bra and hoo-ha that anyone could plainly see though my tights. I glowered up at him.

"That Winnie-the-Pooh quip... Was that a crack about my weight?"

"What?" I'd never heard his voice pitched quite so high. "No!"

"...Because I lost that fifteen pounds!"

Jackson looked confused. "Okay...?"

I suddenly remembered that my left butt cheek was smarting. "Did you smack my ass?"

Another lame attempt to stifle a grin. "I did," he admitted. "But you were hysterical." He quirked an eyebrow at me. "Rough night?"

Hearing Car Guy's words parroted back to me gave me a sinking, abysmal feeling. "You have no idea." I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes and sighed. When I looked up again, Jackson was eyeing the M&M costume with a vaguely inquisitive expression.

"It's not what you think."

"How do you know what I was thinking?"

"Whatever it is, I'm sure it's disparaging."

"Actually, I was thinking maybe the job search wasn't going so well and that you now peddle candy for a living."

I just glared at him.

"But," he continued, "this is a pretty nice place you've got here, so it can't be that..."

"Maybe I work at an escort service that specializes in clients with candy fetishes," I said tightly.

"Occam's razor, Lise. The simplest solution is usually the correct one. So, I'm going to guess... costume party?"

"Is that your final answer?"

He nodded. I could tell he was trying not to laugh.

"Ding!" I sang. "You are correct. But you are still the weakest link," I intoned, mimicking Anne Robinson. "What are you doing here anyway? Shouldn't you be in prison playing wife to some guy named Bubba?"

Now it was his turn to glare. "Prison rape jokes. You're funny, Lise. Isn't that a little heartless, especially coming from you?"

"Heartless!" I shouted. " Oh, was I livid. "You've got a lot of nerve, buddy, calling me heartless! You tried to kill me! You tried to kill my dad!"

"Do I need to remind you that you tried to do an impromptu tracheotomy on me first?"

"Do I really need to remind you that you battered me, strangled me, tried to kill four people, including two children..." My voice was becoming shriller by the moment.

"You know what? Now you're pissing me off! I'm not going to sit here and defend myself for... defending myself... and innocent people! No! NO!" I banged my fist against the cabinet. "You need to leave! Get out! Get out! NOW!"

I knew my face must be scarlet with rage. I could feel the blood pounding in my temples. After a moment, I unclenched my fists and unscrewed my eyes. Attempting to calm myself, I took a deep breath and opened my eyes.

Jackson had disappeared.

I blinked a few times, my vision clearing a bit, my breath starting to return to normal.

A few moments later, he returned to the kitchen - albeit warily - my blue chenille bathrobe in his hands. Absentmindedly, I wondered how he knew it was mine and not Cynthia's.

He folded the robe carefully in half, and then half again, and laid it gently on the floor next to me. He took a step back and examined his shoes, his lips pressed in a tight line.

I picked up the robe and wrapped it around myself, wiped my face. I was surprised when my sleeves came away damp. Had I been crying this whole time? The thought of crying in front of this guy - him, of all people! - only made me cry harder.

He stood there, awkwardly, not knowing exactly where to look.

I sniffed and wiped my eyes and nose for a second time, tried to swallow the giant ball of anxiety lodged in my throat.

Finally, I felt calm enough to say something.

"On the plane... With the pen... I wasn't trying to kill you, Jackson," I said, willing him to understand. "I just wanted you to stop. That's the difference."

"I couldn't just stop, Lisa. I had a..."

"...A job to do," I finished for him. "Yeah, that's what they all say."

"Well, do you feel a little better, at least? Getting all that off your chest, I mean. I bet you've been wanting to scream at me for quite a while."

"That's the truth. Ehhh..." I groaned. "My head is starting to get fuzzy." Jackson turned and wandered away in the direction of my bathroom. Thirty seconds later he was back with two aspirin and half a glass of water. I eyed the pills warily, but took them, popped them in my mouth and chased them down with a gulp of water.

"Look, I didn't... I didn't come here to scare you. Or maybe I did, a little. I don't know... I just wanted you to know that you don't have to worry about me. I'm not plotting any grand revenge schemes. You beat me fair and square. I'm going to be a good sport about it..."

I couldn't believe the words that were actually coming out of his mouth. "A good sport about it? You tried to kill me! You were going to rape me and then kill me in front of my father!"

"I was not...!" he started to shout, but then quickly lowered his voice. "I was not going to rape you," he hissed. "Kill you, yes. But not rape you! And I take offense at that accusation, okay?"

Wow. This guy's moral priorities were definitely skewed.

"So you're not a rapist. Good for you. They should give you the Nobel Peace Prize, I guess."

Jackson closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is certainly not going the way I'd planned."

"Nothing ever goes according to plan," I snapped. "You of all people should know that. So, you don't want to kill me anymore, is that what you're saying? Bygones?"

"Yes, that is what I am saying."

"Well, Jackson, I wish you'd told me this back in Miami when I was going through my reclusive shut-in phase. You know, before I moved across the country."

"Awww," he crooned. "But you're doing so well out here, Lise. You apparently have more than one friend, now. You're definitely not a shut-in; you can barely get into your own house." He laughed. "No, the world is a far more amusing place with you in it."

"I'm so glad that I amuse you."

"No, really. You seem to have loosened up a bit. It suits you."

I was getting sick of his patronizing tone. Two could play that game. I put on my million-watt smile reserved for the most evil of clientele. "That's really sweet, Jackson. And may I say, you seem decidedly less homicidal. It suits you."

A grin slid across his lips. "Well, I took up yoga," he said, conversationally.

"Oh! What a coincidence. So have I." And now for the verbal karate-chop. My smile didn't waiver. "Still killing people for a living, Jack?"

Neither did his. "If it's called for. I'm my own boss, now. I've gone freelance, so I can be a little more choosey with my jobs.

"It must be a dream come true for you," I said sweetly.

He nodded. "You know, it really is."

God, I wanted to kick him in his pretty face.

"Well, listen, I'd love to stay here all day and banter with you, but I'm starving. What about pancakes?"

"What about them?" I said.

He frowned. "I'm sorry, was I being obtuse? I want to buy you pancakes, Lisa," he said matter-of-factly. "Or whatever breakfast food you prefer. Think of it as a peace offering."

I blinked at him. I didn't know how to respond to that.

"I really don't know how to respond to that. Are... are you joking?"

"Oh, I never joke about pancakes," he said dryly.

I shook my head in disbelief. Was he screwing with me, or did I actually need to spell it out for him? "I don't think I feel comfortable going anywhere in a car with you, Jackson."

He nodded in acquiescence. "Fair enough. I saw a greasy spoon a couple blocks away. We could walk."

"I don't want breakfast," I said tersely. "I want to crawl into bed and sleep."

"Come on. Greasy food is the best cure for a hangover."

"Yeah, it makes you barf up any remaining alcohol in your stomach," I said sullenly.

He grinned, and it actually seemed to reach his eyes. "Then I promise to hold your hair back."

"I told you, I'm not hungry. I just want to sleep." Of course at that moment my stomach took the opportunity to give an embarrassingly audible growl.

"Uh huh. Come on, get dressed."

I could see that he was determined to disregard any argument I could possibly come up with. I rationalized that I was indeed famished, and that Mike's twenty-four hour diner really wasn't that far. If Jackson Rippner wanted to kill me and chop me up into neat little bits, he could have already been well on his way to accomplishing that, instead of standing there trying to convince me to walk down the street and have pancakes with him. I'd be safer out in public.

"Fine. But you're going to have to wait outside while I get dressed."

That damn cocky grin appeared again. "What, you don't trust me?"

"About as far as I can throw you."

"You have to admit, I've been a perfect gentleman so far..."

I shot him a venomous glare. "Yeah, except for the spanking."

"My motives were completely legitimate." His mouth twitched, but he kept it under control. It's a good thing he did, too, or I couldn't have been held accountable for my actions.

"If you want me to go, you're going to have to wait outside."

He nodded and crossed to the kitchen door. I got up and followed him. He paused, shooting me a sideways glance. "How do I know you won't call the cops?"

It was my turn to give him a saccharine-sweet smile. "You don't," I said. "Give me fifteen minutes." I shoved him out the door and slammed it behind him.

XXXXX

To be continued…

A/N: Thanks for reading folks! There will be more to come soon. Bear with me – I'm without full time email access, so I have update from work during my down time.